


Your Verse

by havvkeyes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Jock!Dean, M/M, hipster!cas, references to o me! o life! by walt whitman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 18:42:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1195500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havvkeyes/pseuds/havvkeyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Poetry and Dean Winchester shouldn't mix. Then again, neither should Dean and Castiel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Verse

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this on [tumblr](http://enohcian.co.vu/post/76908487383/your-verse). It was inspired by an anon who asked for a "highschool au with hipster,arrogant,sarcastic!cas and jock,equally sarcastic!dean and they start off rly hostile towards eachother but then they just realize its sexual tension and fuck it out i nEED THIS pls"
> 
> So this is my response to that prompt.

Dean grimaced as Mr. Henriksen dragged the chalk across the board to form the words ‘group projects’ in his messy handwriting. The teacher glanced around at the class before picking up a thin piece of paper off of his desk.

"Yes, yes. I can feel the excitement already. For this project you’ll be writing a paper on a poet of your choosing and then presenting two of their poems to the class. Now I know you’re all hoping that you’ll be able to pick your partners for this project," he paused to survey the class. Everyone silently glanced at their friends, claiming partners. "You’ll all be happy to know that I saved you the trouble and picked your partners for you."

Everyone groaned, Dean included.

"Kevin Tran and Chuck Shurley," Mr. Henriksen announced. Chuck was the scruffy, easily frightened boy who sat in front of him. Dean barely contained his snicker as Chuck turned to raise his hand in acknowledgement at Kevin, who simply stared at his desk.

"Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak."

 

Dean’s eyes went wide at the thought of working with Castiel, and he prayed to God he had heard wrong.

From behind him, someone laughed a low, snarky laugh. “Winchester? You can’t be serious. No way in hell,” Castiel voiced.

"Well Mr. Novak I suppose I can fail you for this assignment right now then," Mr. Henriksen peered over his glasses at the boy. Castiel mumbled something unitelligable under his breath, to which Dean turned around to glare at him.

Castiel sat sideways in his desk with his long legs extended out into the aisle. His arms were crossed over his chest, hiding most of the design on his baggy blue sweater. Castiel’s icy blue eyes narrowed when he caught Dean staring and he threw a sneer his way before turning to whisper something to the girl next to him. “Awesome,” Dean said under his breath, orienting himself so he once again faced his teacher.

* * *

 

The doorbell’s shrill ring was loud enough to startle Dean. He sighed as he clicked the TV off and pushed himself off the leather couch to answer the door. 

Castiel wasted no time with a greeting, stepping into Dean’s house with his black backpack slung over his left shoulder and a frown on his face. He threw his winter coat unceremoniously onto the floor, revealing a red flannel shirt. Castiel raised a dark eyebrow at Dean. “Well?” He said after a pause.

"Let’s just get this over with," Dean mumbled, brushing his short hair back. "We can sit at the dining room table." 

Dean slumped in a chair at the head of the table and folded his arms across his chest. Castiel took the chair to his left, swinging his annoyingly long legs to the side so that he was nearly kicking Dean every time he moved. 

"Listen Winchester, I know poetry has too many big words for your tiny, sports centered brain to comprehend, but I need a good grade on this."

Dean simply rolled his eyes. “I’m suprised you’re sober enough to form coherent sentences, Novak,” he shot back. “I know it may sound surprising, but I need a decent grade too.”

"Please," Castiel scoffed, almost laughing as he turned to reach in his backpack. "It’s not like you care about  _academia._ ”

"Sports scholarships. Can’t get recruited without decent grades."

"I see," Castiel replied. "Well, you and your meathead coaches can rest easy. That is, assuming you do actually know some poetry." Dean watched Castiel stretch, his arms coming obnoxiously close to hitting Dean square in the face. 

"Watch it Novak," Dean snapped. Castiel threw his worn hands up in feigned shock.

"Woah, take it easy Winchester," he smirked, his blue eyes teasing. Castiel rolled up the sleeves of his flannel, revealing  the tips of wings drawn in black ink on his forearms. The rest of the tattoo was obscured by his shirt. "Nice right?" Castiel asked, catching Dean staring.

"Yeah man, pretty sweet." Maybe Dean imagined it, but it seemed like Castiel actually smiled at the compliment. It was gone as soon as it had appeared. 

There was an awkward pause as neither said a word. Dean twiddled his thumbs, debating whether or not to rise to Castiel’s challenge of poetry knowledge. 

“Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring,” Dean finally spoke into the dead silence of the room. Castiel’s eyes widened and froze right on Dean. 

"Whitman eh? Never pegged you for a Whitman guy." Dean shrugged and wondered whether or not he should continue. Castiel’s interested expression was enough of an encouragement.

“Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish, Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?) Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d, Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me, Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined,The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?”

"Answer," Castiel whispered, still staring intensely at Dean. "That you are here—that life exists and identity, That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse." 

Castiel broke the heavy gaze, abruptly standing up. He grabbed Dean’s arm and pulled him so the two were standing facing each other. Dean was a few inches taller than Castiel whose forehead came to rest right near Dean’s eyes. 

Dean avoided looking at Castiel directly, instead focusing once again on the tatoo peaking out from under his shirt. “Guess you were wrong,” he said finally. 

"Yeah, guess I was," Castiel mused, licking his lips. Dean smiled slightly, shaking his head. He gasped when he felt the shorter man’s hands rest on either cheek. 

"Cas?"

"Shut up," Castiel mumbled. "Screw you Dean Winchester. You and your sports and poetry and ridiculous green eyes. Scew you."

Dean felt the words tumbling out of his mouth before he could process them. “You offering, Novak?” Castiel mumbled something that sounded an awful lot like  _challenge accepted_ before crashing their lips together. Dean’s arms wrapped around Castiel’s waist, pulling him closer. He tasted like mint and the tiniest hint of alcohol. Dean groaned as Castiel pushed him against the wall, breaking their kiss.

"Maybe I’ll be wrong more often," Castiel teased. His hands were now on either side of Dean’s head, pinning him. Dean laughed, trailing his fingers under the hem of Cas’ shirt. He pulled Castiel closer and kissed him again.


End file.
